


Hope for the Best

by Fallowsthorn



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Cute, First Crush, Fluff, Humor, Other, Unrequited Crush, Young Sam Flynn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallowsthorn/pseuds/Fallowsthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam with a broken heart, pre-Legacy, and Alan making it all better.</p><p>AKA, Alan doesn't have any children, so how come he's suddenly playing parent to Sam Flynn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope for the Best

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt at the Tron Kink Meme: http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4397.html?thread=3200557#t3200557
> 
> Due to some confusion on my part about what "pre-Legacy" actually meant, Sam is roughly six in this and adorable. Note that despite what the subject line of the prompt says, this is _not_ Alan/Sam.

Alan scanned the sidewalk in front of the elementary school for Sam's small frame, almost missing him because the kid was standing so far back from the road. He rolled down the passenger-side window and leaned over to shout, "Sam!"   
  
Sam looked up sharply, startled, but when he saw it was Alan, he let his head hang again and trudged slowly towards the car.   
  
Alan frowned. Usually Sam ran for Alan's car like he was escaping from prison, well aware that his ride meant both a captive audience and a visit to "Dad's Cool Work" for the next few hours. The only times he trudged were when either he was sick or Kevin was, and the one usually meant the other.   
  
"Hey, bud," he said amicably, when Sam had reached the car and gotten in the back seat. "How's it goin'?"   
  
There was the unmistakable sniff and short-breathed gasp of someone who either had a cold or had been crying for a time. Alan didn't rule out the cold until he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw tear tracks staining Sam's cheeks. He pulled into the nearest parking spot he saw and killed the engine so he could unbuckle his seatbelt and face Sam. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"   
  
Sam sniffed again and rubbed at his eyes. "I like Henry," he said. This, while an interesting fact, was not entirely helpful to Alan in figuring out why Sam was crying.   
  
"Um...." He was missing something here, painfully so. "All right...."   
  
Sam shook his head, seeing that Alan didn't get it. "No, I  _like_  like him."   
  
Ah. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the rest. "And he doesn't like you back," Alan finished. Sam shook his head, bursting into fresh tears.   
  
Alan pursed his lips and looked down for a second. He could do this very awkwardly, and likely confuse Sam to no end in the process, or he could just field Sam's questions as they came and hope for the best.   
  
He went with the second way.   
  
Alan got out and circled around the car to where Sam was sitting, opening that door and popping Sam's seatbelt to gather him into a hug. "Shh, shh, it's okay, it'll be okay," he murmured, rubbing circles into Sam's back. He was struck by a sudden sense of deja vu: Alan had done almost exactly the same thing for the elder Flynn after Jordan's funeral, minus a few feet in height and a bottle of whiskey. He shoved the memory to the side for a second. Sam didn't need that.   
  
Sam said something unintelligible into Alan's shirt, and Alan looked down at him. "What was that?"   
  
"He said boys couldn't like boys, only girls could, and that I was gross. And he kicked me," Sam added, pulling up his pant leg to reveal a not-unimpressive bruise on his shin. Henry must have played soccer. "Am I gross?" His eyes searched Alan's face anxiously.   
  
Alan sighed and braced his hands on Sam's shoulders. "No, you're not gross, Sam," he said firmly. "Some boys like boys, some girls like girls, and some - most - girls like boys and boys like girls. Henry is one of the boys-who-like-girls."   
  
"And I'm not? But girls are fine," Sam said, clearly not wanting to alienate half the population of his class. "Just boring."   
  
Alan raised an eyebrow. "'Boring'?" he asked.   
  
Sam shrugged and wrinkled his nose. "They don't  _do_  anything. They just sit around inside at recess. Except Hannah. She's pretty cool. She's good at kickball, too. One time-"   
  
"Regardless," Alan interjected, "of whether you like boys or girls or both, there will be some people that don't like you back."   
  
Sam's smile shrank, and Alan momentarily felt bad, before reminding himself that this was not particularly a conversation he wanted to leave to Kevin.   
  
"Why not?" Sam asked. "I'm not mean to them, am I?"   
  
"No," Alan conceded, although he didn't have any way of knowing, really. "But just because someone wants to be your friend doesn't mean they - they  _like_  like you. And sometimes, there's nothing you can do about it. You just have to let them live their life the way they want."   
  
"So I shouldn't talk to Henry any more, about  _like_  liking him?" Sam asked. He looked disappointed, but also like he'd expected something along these lines.   
  
Alan bit his lip, thinking. "How about... you don't bring it up to him, but if he wants to talk about it, you talk, okay?"   
  
Sam nodded, cheered at this prospect. "Okay!"   
  
Alan smiled. "Whaddaya say we go down to the arcade and play a couple rounds of Lightcycles, see if we can beat your dad's record, huh?"   
  
At Sam's enthusiastic approval, Alan let go of him so he could buckle his seatbelt again. Alan was sitting in the driver's seat before Sam spoke again, and when he did, it was with a question that made Alan grateful he hadn't started the car.   
  
"Hey, Alan? Do you and Dad  _like_  like each other?"   
  
Alan was so stunned, he forgot to add a question mark to the end of his flat, "What."   
  
A check in the mirror revealed Sam fidgeting with the end of his shirt. "Well, 'cause, when you guys think I'm not around, or you forget I am, then you act like Dad and Mom used to. Only without the icky stuff."   
  
Guessing that by "icky stuff," Sam meant kissing, Alan could see... er... well.... Hmm.   
  
"It's not-" Alan started, then stopped and tried again. "We're not - your father is - I'm-" Another glance back showed Sam looking at him expectantly, but the boy's expression was rapidly growing shrewder. "I'll give you a quarter if you don't ever mention that to Kevin. He would hound me about it for the rest of my days."   
  
Sam, sensing blackmail material, immediately said, "Fifty cents."   
  
"Deal," Alan told him, and handed him two quarters out of his pocket before starting the car. Good humor restored, Sam made a clinking game out of tossing the quarters together, and Alan was too relieved to have a potential crisis averted that he wasn't bothered (all that much) by the incessant noise.   
  
 _Ah, kid. I hope you never have your heart broken by anything more than this. It'll never come true, but... I can hope, can't I?_


End file.
